


Magic Bullet

by nevtelenwriting



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Brainwashing, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Graphic Rape and Violence, HYDRA Trash Party, Improper sounding procedure, Memory Suppressing Machine | The Chair (Marvel), Mind Games, Mind fuckery, Multi, Original Character Death(s), Original Character Non Con, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sounding, oh god dead dove do not eat, please mind the warnings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-08 00:01:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19860214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevtelenwriting/pseuds/nevtelenwriting
Summary: Magic Bullet: aka the end all cure all in the 1930s and 1940s for all your ails, but turns out they were just laced with arsenicThis is various drabbles and prompts I've done constituting any and all definitions of Hydra Trash and general whump and torture and mind fuckery in the MCU. Will maybe add other drabbles from the Netflix shows I've done fills for later, too. PLEASE mind the tags





	1. Punk: Pierce/Winter Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> I've posted some random drabbles and fills over the years and I really have no idea where they all are anymore, but I'm gonna try to compile them here. Heavy focus on TWS but if I find others I'll add them, too. PLEASE please mind the tags, there aren't any punches pulled.

Standard protocol dictates an order: brief, prep, execute, report, recalibrate. Recondition and reorder of these parameters are not met. He recalls enough memory that this is what he most follow, not question. He only asks what is necessary to carry out his assignment.

Sometimes snippets of the past filter in, mostly of gunshots and blood and iron on his tongue. They tell him he has saved humanity time and again. He has no reason not to believe them, nor does he understand why this matters. It is protocol. 

So when his current commander—this man was much older, but he thinks he may be the same man from the last time he was awake—tells him to face the wall after his current mission failure, he listens. He tells the soldier this is his punishment, and he has no reason to dispute it. Recondition.

His armor, belt, and pants are stripped away, and the sudden intrusion is pain, not any worse than he’s felt before but the suddenness of it still makes his breath halt in his lungs, metal fingers screeching on the wall they claw against for a second. He relaxes his body though, an instinct or practice he's unsure, rests his head against the wall with teeth clenched as the pain eases away into pressure, in and out with rough friction slicked by tearing skin. There is pain, but he knows it will disappear the moment the intrusion is gone. He will heal, and continue with protocol.

His mind flickers with memories, some thoughts occasionally, but never more than a few words or feelings accompanied by the broken fragments of a frayed movie reel. The sensation is different, new, but not unfamiliar. He is almost certain he has experienced the pressure before—not painful, and underneath the in and out he could almost feel a sensation that was closer to pleasure.

The movie reel picks up speed again, and he sees his mission, the Captain, his face, only different. Out of time, a softer set to his eyes than the hardened determination of battle and threat. His face is gentle, and so are his hands around his waist, his chest pressed against his back. Familiar, the sensation is so familiar and the pressure he thinks his mission gave him once is nothing like this it’s…right there…if only he could grab that memory and pull it up, but it’s covered in tar and oil, the picture frames and reels electrocuted out of him. He isn’t even sure if it’s real but there’s a fragment beyond the dark—

“Punk…”

He doesn’t realize he says it out loud until the pressure halts entirely, and then it’s gone. He winces, but doesn’t move from his position, wasn’t given permission to.

“What did you—? Well, this won’t do.”

He’s ordered to fix his clothing, and then he’s shoved back into the chair, and the memory is reordered by more blackness and screaming and pain. But he still recalls his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos give me life ;u;


	2. Not So Commonplace: Pierce/Winter Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a fill for the HTP meme way back when: Non-con sounding. 
> 
> Also: while is should go without saying to treat fic, specifically this type of fic like porn, this is nOT the right way to do sounding! Please don't take cues from fic and read healthy ways to practice your kinks, my loves

Pierce studies the faces of each new recruit surrounding the Soldier, their eyes filled with lust and mouths twisted into grins as the second shoves his cock down the asset’s throat without so much as a gag. His eyes prick up with tears on reflex, but he doesn’t make a sound; his throat relaxes and he takes each pounding thrust with a barest twitch in his remaining hand. He closes his eyes and tightens his lips around the hard flesh, sucks obediently as he was trained to do.

Another of the team yanks his hair hard enough to pull out strands but he doesn’t wince from that, either. Instead, he pulls back, lips slick and swollen from the fucking. Pierce sighs.

It’s _mundane._

It was the same routine, every time. They used his mouth or his ass and despite a few leaked tears that were uncontrollable, the asset made no indication of his pain. No sounds to signal any distress. They’d done everything to him, and they had no surprises left. The Winter Soldier had become boring to watch.

Pierce taps his hand against his thigh and racks his brain, thinks of his first days with the Soldier, back when he was young and impulsive himself, when the Soldier still had fear in his eyes when Pierce used everything and anything to split his body apart. Oh, he missed his squeals when he spread his ass wide, around cocks, handguns, rifles, or fists. There didn’t seem to be anything he couldn’t take.

The idea flitters into his mind, unsuspected, and Pierce smiles. It’s the first time in the past hour he feels his cock twitch.

Pierce addresses the team as he stands to head out, “When you’re done, have him sent to my home. Eight sharp.”

“Yes, sir!” A chorus of the grunts calls back, and he hears one of them gasp as he comes.

He uses the short few hours to prepare, and when he enters his bedroom at a minute past eight, the Winter Soldier waits patiently at his bed, fully clothed, and watching him. He nods once to the director and stays as still as the dead.

Pierce has a box in his hand, small and inconspicuous, and he fights a chuckle when the asset glances over it before settling back on him.

“Strip,” Pierce tells him.

The Winter Soldier obeys, his flesh and metal hands working deftly over the clasps to remove the weapons, holsters, and finally, his clothes from his body. When he is fully naked his hands fall to his sides, exposed but no shame in his distant stare. Pierce steps forward and slowly walks around the weapon’s toned body, taking in every bruise, bite, and scratch across the planes of his skin. Finger-shaped mars fade on his hips, most of them yellowed and the scratches down his chest and his back are scabbed over. They’ll be gone by morning.

Pierce tilts his head, and asks, “Did you like what they did to you?”

The assassin’s shoulders tense up a fraction, but he stays silent.

“You make speak freely,” Pierce clarifies.

There’s another moment’s pause, and the asset says softly, his voice scratchy and rough from the earlier abuse, “Indifferent.”

Pierce smirks and stops in front of him. “Elaborate.”

His jaw tenses around a clenching of his teeth, and he can hear the metal whir in his arm when he shifts.

“Eto moy dolg, chtoby sluzhit’ vashi lyudi. Ya nichego ne chuvstvuyu.” He slips back into a language more comfortable to speak in when he’s posed with these questions, even something as simple as telling him he is performing his duty. He always has, and Pierce can’t help but see the irony.

Regardless, he doesn’t care much for the answer; he merely likes hearing him bark on command.

“Get on the bed.”

The Winter Soldier immediately crawls onto the meticulously pressed comforter, back against the headboard with his legs spread. Completely routine.

Pierce reaches into the side drawer of his nightstand and pulls out a bottle of lube, “Grab the headboard, and keep your hands there.”

The Soldier holds the metal board and, on instinct, spreads his legs wider and draws his knees up closer to his chest to expose his hole. He is still red and swollen there, likely cleaned unless the agents were too stupid to remember to. Pierce chuckles and climbs between his legs, the box still in hand. He sets it aside for now.

He pushes two fingers in dry, little resistance other than natural friction from his earlier use. He doesn’t even flinch; his eyes close for a moment, a sharp breath held in his lungs that is released slowly when they open again, irises glassy and absent. Pierce wonders what fills that empty skull when he’s used like this. There can’t be much.

His fingers crook upward to massage his prostate, that pulls out a tremor in the Soldier’s taut stomach and a twitch in his brow from confusion, but nothing else. Pierce lifts his other hand to trace his fingers over the sensitive head of his flaccid cock. The asset trembles in surprise.

“That’s it, enjoy it,” Pierce soothes him, “I want you hard.”

His eyes are still hazy as he nods, and he closes them to focus on the task given. In minutes he’s erect, pre-come leaking from the slit that Pierce smears around the swollen head. The weapon’s mouth slackens, silent, but clearly enjoying the sensation.

“Good boy,” Pierce coos, and slides his fingers out. He takes up the box and opens it, revealing several thin instruments, each one slightly thicker than the last. The first is hardly a few millimeters in width, so he picks up the second, thicker and more likely to bring him the satisfaction he wants. The Soldier can’t hide his confusion, subtle as it is, and Pierce smiles.

“Don’t move,” he instructs as he pops the lid of the lubricant and generously coats the rod with the slick substance. The asset keeps still, his hands firmly in place but there’s a ghost of wariness behind vacant eyes Pierce hasn’t seen in a long time. Heat gathers in his belly in anticipation.

He takes a holds of the asset’s hard cock and angles it up, and presses the tip of the rounded instrument to the slit. He keeps his eyes on the Soldier, and that distant glaze starts to shatter when he realizes what Pierce is about to do. It’s new, different, against what he’s been trained to endure. Pierce starts to push the sounding rod inside and the Soldier’s mouth drops open, eyes wide as his entire body jolts. His hips buck down, away from the rod and Pierce squeezes his hand around his cock hard enough to draw out a pained gasp.

“Stay still,” he commands, and after a few seconds, the asset settles back on the bed, entire body tense while Pierce lines the tip back up and pushes the unrelenting rod inside his cock. The weapon doesn’t watch Pierce anymore, eyes zeroed in on the head of his erect cock while tears prick up in shining blue eyes. His hands clench into the headboard until the metal creaks, and a hitching sound catches in the back of the weapon’s throat.

Pierce’s cock swells hard in his slacks, and he twists the rod with a smooth jerk. The broken squeal he tears out of his throat is _divine_ so he does it again, the motion making an agonized moan fall from his parted lips, the metal grinding loudly under his hands. Pierce starts to pull it out slowly, the edges catching on the leaking tip and his cock pulses in his hand, a spasm of pain or pleasure, he can’t tell.

“Please—” the asset gasps suddenly, delicious tears tracking down his face and Pierce fights the desire to lick them from his heated cheeks.

He stops though, eyebrows arched up. “Excuse me?”

The asset hasn’t talked back in years. He hasn’t forgotten protocol since the first time Pierce bent him over his desk. His cock aches when the Soldier’s lip trembles, but he closes his mouth and shakes his head, a dismissal and a plea wrapped into one. He sucks in a breath and squeezes his eyes shut, and after three long seconds, he spreads his trembling legs wider.

“That’s what I thought.”

Pierce fucks him steadily with the sounding rod, twisting his wrist with each pull out until he’s leaking come around every thrust, until he’s shaking and biting back cries into his arm. His entire body is an open nerve from the pain, his skin hot under his hands when Pierce lets go of his cock and slides a hand up one sweat-slick thigh. He opens his eyes to look at Pierce, and they’re wide and wet and _begging_ with words he knows he can’t voice. Pierce pulls out the rod, and grabs the next biggest one.

A whimper bubbles in the back of the Winter Soldier’s throat, and when he pushes in the next without preparation, the asset screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos give me life ;u;


	3. Adrenaline Rush: Winter Soldier/Prisoner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is for another HTP prompt, this one is uh, very brutal, very dark, no happy ending: TWS is ordered to rape a prisoner. Warning for character death

Rumlow shoved the bitch they picked up into the room, and didn’t bother stopping a smile when she stumbled and fell to her knees with a gasp of pain. He stepped aside to allow guards to file in after her, already hauling her shouting, flailing ass to the wall to chain her arms to the floor. He slammed the door shut behind their prisoner and turned to the Winter Soldier standing by his side, eyes forward, impassive as always behind the mask.

But he was _shifting_. It was slow, deliberate movement, but movement nonetheless. He rolled his shoulders once, lifting his chin before settling his gaze front and center again. Rumlow frowned at him.

Anyone else, and Rumlow would have ignored it. But the breathing weapon hardly blinked without first receiving authorization to do so, let alone exhibit something as banal as discomfort. He never even fucking scratched his nose. Rumlow cocked a brow at him and crossed his arms.

“Something wrong?”

Rumlow gave him a once over, at first assuming he may have been injured, which, considering he was his temporary handler for the forty-eight hour mission, meant it would be on his hide. But other than the blood that wasn't his own sticking in clotted clumps to his face and hair, streaking rivulets into the mesh of his mask, there was no sign of injury. Rumlow knew for a fact that blood came from the spurting artery of a slashed throat. He wondered if he could taste iron on his tongue

The Soldier said nothing to his question, eyes still forward. He rarely spoke outside of protocol, and only seemed to engage in any short conversation with Pierce. If it wasn't necessary, then he did not waste the breath.

Rumlow's mouth twitched regardless, but kept his cool. The asset was breathing a little hard, chest heaving faster behind the leather armor. Hell, Rumlow still felt the adrenaline burning through his veins from their hunt, and the screaming girl on the other side wasn't helping his case.

The mission was a success. Rumlow's team were called in as back up for the Soldier, a failsafe in-case their weapon had any obstacles. Honestly, they were the pick-up crew. The Soldier never needed any fucking help.

There were in a remote location in Montenegro, assigned to take down a convoy transporting a diplomat incompatible to Hydra's interests. The Soldier took each car down with the skill of an artist, and personally sliced the throat of the diplomat before sending the vehicle hurling to the rocks below the cliff side. An unfortunate accident in a country few other nations cared much about.

However, their intel had not told them about a second convoy, this one with the diplomat's daughter trailing ten minutes behind. Rumlow and his team had just come in to retrieve the asset when they rounded the corner, and a second blood bath began. Their asset handled it beautifully, but their team extracted extra baggage they hadn't prepared for, now chained up in one of their holding cells. With no orders to kill or question, Rumlow had her brought in, kicking and screaming until he received confirmation from Pierce. She would die anyway, but Rumlow knew better than to shoot without asking permission first.

Normally, the Soldier would have been taken immediately away to get cleaned, calibrated, and debriefed before his next mission or put on ice. But they had to wait for orders to come back from the States on what to do with the extra baggage. So Rumlow was ordered not to let the asset out of his sight, and to take care of any complications. The Soldier fidgeting and now, what the fuck, _swallowing_ hard like his throat was sore certainly meant a complication.

“What, you getting sick or something?” Rumlow grabbed his arm to turn him. Big mistake.

Quick as a flash, the Soldier had him slammed up against the door, knife pressed tight against his throat and using every souped-up muscle of his modified body to keep him pinned from chest to knee. His eyes were on fire, pupils blown and flashing and Rumlow, as distinct as a punch in the gut, felt the thick line of the Soldier's erection ground up against his thigh.

Rumlow blinked. Back-pedaled, and tried to process that reeling thought.

Well, color him surprised.

But it made sense, oddly enough. God, even Rumlow's blood still burned hot from that mission. He often got that thrill from a job like this, burning heat and primal want through his gut. Sometimes he acted on it, sometimes he didn't. He'd learned how to ignore a hard-on and continue with his job.

It wasn't that much of a stretch to think their weapon would follow the same. He still had a dick and who the fuck knows when he last had a release. It wasn’t exactly mission protocol. Usually.

Rumlow jutted his chin up slightly, pulling the skin taught against that knife but holding his gaze on the Soldier.

“Easy there, soldier,” he breathed, lifting one hand up so the soldier could see it. “Stand down.”

Rumlow then slid his hand down, slowly so that his jugular would remain intact, over the asset’s chest and between their bodies. His brow furrowed, knife pressing up tighter, confusion making his eyes dart down and then back up to Rumlow. When Rumlow cupped his hand between the soldier’s legs, and ground his palm down, the asset's breath caught, his hold on the knife faltering enough to slip from his hands. It landed with an echoing clatter the same moment his hips jolted forward, seeking out more friction of Rumlow's hand.

He didn't give it though, just kept his hand there, and fought the urge to smile.

“That feels painful,” Rumlow said conversationally, as if his hand on their trigger's hard dick was the most natural thing in the world and there wasn’t a screaming bitch echoing out curses in the other room. Honestly? Rumlow had done weirder.

The asset relaxed with a slow, shaking breath, and choked back a groan when Rumlow pressed down again. He rocked up into his hand, and Rumlow held still, letting him grind against his palm until his hips started to stutter.

“Stop,” Rumlow commanded, adrenaline burning satisfaction up his spine when the soldier stilled immediately. Concrete screeched where metal fingers curled into a tight fist. He looked up at Rumlow with icy eyes, and Rumlow shivered at the control he had over Winter.

Rumlow pushed at his shoulder and the soldier immediately stepped away. Rumlow gave a cursory glance down to the hard ridge tenting the asset's uniform, already leaking come at the tip to make the darker patch in his already pitch black pants. Oh, this was just too good.

“Tell you what,” Rumlow said, and the asset tilted his head, icy eyes unblinking but intent. Rumlow grinned, “Since you did such a fine job today, how about I let you blow off some steam?”

The asset just stared at him with those damn unblinking eyes, waiting for more, expectant for a protocol. Jeez, did he even know how to use his dick?

“What are my orders?” The asset asked, and nearly threw Rumlow for a loop. It took him all of three seconds to gather himself, arms crossing as he nodded to the Soldier, and more importantly, that persistent problem not flagging in the slightest.

“Orders? Shit. Alright. You get to fuck our prisoner. Make her scream real nice and good. My treat to you.”

The asset studied him for a solid ten seconds, before dragging his eyes to the door. Rumlow swore the corner of his eye crinkled in a smile. It was gone in a flash though, face as impassive as before under that mask.

Just when Rumlow thought he would have to explain what _fucking_ was, the Soldier spoke again.

“Understood.”

Rumlow grinned as he pushed open the door, and held out his hand in gesture for the asset to walk in.

“Take all the time you need.”

Their prisoner was sitting on her ass, her shouting paused when the door started to open. She was a pretty little thing, honestly. Her curly hair had ripped it out its ponytail now, sticking to her face from her sweat and tears. When Rumlow and the soldier walked in the bitch rolled up to her knees and lifted her head to glare daggers at them with those sweet chestnut eyes. Rumlow just smiled, and the soldier said nothing, impassive as always but Rumlow could almost feel him standing on his toes, ready for the order to start.

The moment she saw the soldier walk in her eye’s widened. She scrambled back against the wall, as far away from him as possible and started stammering and sputtering in her own language, shaking her head and screaming something about the devil. She finally wailed out in English, “K-keep it away from me!”

Rumlow was having a really good day here. He stalked up to her and wrenched her away from the wall by the chains on her wrists, making her skid across the concrete and shred the skin on her knees.

“You’re not in a place to be barking orders, baby.” Rumlow grinned at her. She tried to back away again but Rumlow merely yanked the chain back to him, and grabbed her face by the jaw and squeezed.

“You’re a cute one.” He said then, and the girl spat, narrowly missing his face when Rumlow reared back.

“They'll find me. You're screwed,” the bitch snapped, even as she flinched when Rumlow dropped to his haunches next to her, hand still wrapped tight around one chain.

Rumlow clicked his tongue and grabbed her by her neck, hauling her up and squeezing until she whimpered and clawed uselessly at his hand.

“I'd be more worried about yourself, doll face,” Rumlow cooed, and then smacked her hard, letting her go so she would collapse back to the ground. She yelped from the pain of the concrete but braced herself against the ground, throwing up another enraged glare. Rumlow watched a thin rivulet of blood stream from her temple. He felt his dick throb.

Rumlow didn’t bother with any more formalities. He was practically shaking from how much he wanted to break this bitch in himself, but he took in a slow breath. It would be worth it so much more if he let the “devil” take the reins.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t help.

Rumlow released the chain and grabbed her by the arm instead, pulling her forward so that she was chest to chest with him. She yelled and hit him with her balled up fist, weak and useless against the Kevlar he still wore. He grinned wide and grabbed her other wrist, forcing her to still as he pinned her arms down at her sides.

“No! Let go of me, let go! Help!” She screamed in his facem wailing as loud as she could only for the sounds to be absorbed by the thick concrete walls. Rumlow twisted her around and let go of her arms to instead brace his hand over her mouth, his other arm wrapped tight around her neck to pin her back against his chest. She kicked, and screamed behind his hand that practically engulfed her petite face with its size. She claws at his arms, nails raking red and then bloody scratches into the skin and Rumlow laughed, a little breathless from her attempts to fight.

He kept her still against him, muffling her sounds so that he could look up and address the asset. He was ramrod straight, still with his hands lax at his sides. He clearly sensed no threat, as well.

“All yours, soldier,” Rumlow said, and the kicking stopped for moment, her body going rigid before she renewed her fight to get away, her screams somehow getting higher pitched behind his palm.

The moment he spoke the weapon moved. He stepped forward quickly so he was towering above the both of them, and then dropped so his knees so that he could wrench her legs out and pin her down by his own knees braced down over her thighs.

“Move,” the Soldier said, and Rumlow wasn’t a fucking mind reader. But the Soldier flicked out a knife and Rumlow, by instinct, removed the closest of his appendages from that sharp blade which just so happened to be the arm around her neck.

The instant his arm was gone Winter pressed the knife up against her neck, his other hand fisting into her hair and yanking her forward so that the knife sliced a superficial line into the skin. She went quiet the moment it cut her throat.

“Skazhite mne, kak vy khotite, chtoby umere,” (Tell me how you want to die) the soldier said, hissed close to her face.

Rumlow felt her tremble violently against him, wetness leaking over his fingers now as he screams devolved into sobs. Her clawlike fingers froze on his arm.

“Move.” He said again, his eyes trained on the bitch and Rumlow didn’t need to be told again. 

As with everything else he did, the Winter Soldier didn't need any damn assistance. The moment Rumlow stepped away Winter pierced the knife into concrete like it was dirt and not solid stone, and then grabbed the cunt by her neck and slammed her down into the ground.

Now that her mouth was free she sobbed out, “Ya ne khochu umirat!” (I don’t want to die!) and Rumlow saw the soldier’s eyes flash.

He pinned her with that metal arm over her neck with no effort, her legs kicking out and trying to free themselves from the punishing weight of his body forcing her still. She screamed bloody murder now that her mouth was free, thrashing her head back and forth and shoving at the metal arm pinned across her neck. The Soldier shifted his weight off of her legs, and seemed to either not notice or not care when she started kicking at his sides and his legs. He didn’t even budge as he flicked out a knife, another one, and shredded her jeans right against her cunt, a quick flick of the wrist that didn't even nick her skin.

She went pale then, her screams stuttering with shock and fresh tears sprung to her eyes when she realized what was happening.

“N-no! No, no no no please!” She pushed at his arm again, and now? She tried to close her legs, tried to press her knees together but the asset was too close, his hips keeping her spread open wide with no hint he cared about her tears or her fear.

He really was an artist. Rumlow's mouth twitched and he chewed the inside of his lip, curling his hands into fists where they were crossed and adamantly ignoring the pounding ache in his groin at the scene before him.

The bitch started to really sob then, crumbling into the bargaining stage of denial like a champ. Whether her pleas meant nothing or turned the soldier on, Rumlow had no idea. He knew what it was doing to his own dick and when the Soldier shoved his uniform pants off of his hips with his flesh and blood hand, his cock jutted up thick and hard and ready to split her apart. Definitely no reluctance there.

He had to hand it to Hydra. Pierce wasn't exaggerating when he said their weapon was programmed for one setting only; attack. Thank fuck Rumlow had been registered as a master for their weapon, and not prey.

But then he stopped. The Soldier just held her down, and froze in place. Rumlow grimaced, the earlier thought coming back that maybe the Soldier had no clue how fucking worked, until the Solder started mumbling under his breath.

“Eto nepra’vilno… No way. Not treat. A dame like…” (It’s not right) The Soldier slurred, still as stone.

Rumlow blinked, and wondered what the hell faulty undercover mission gave him an accent like that. Rumlow walked up to the Soldier and grabbed him by his hair, wrenching it back to look the Soldier in his cold eyes. Despite his words, his eyes were stone.

“You will complete this order, you understand Soldier? You will fuck her until I tell you to stop.”

The Soldier nodded, and Rumlow let go of his hair. A litany of “please stop” spilled from the bitch’s lips to no consequence. Not a second after Rumlow let him go the Soldier grabbed her by the hip with the tight grip of his real hand, pulled her up, and sank his cock into her cunt in one thrust that sent her shrill cry echoing across the walls.

He used the leverage of his metal arm over her neck and chest to start pounding into her with abandon, no warm up, no nothing, the damn freak. He hooked on her behind her knee, and forced it up until he nearly touched her chest to spread her wider and sink his cock deeper until her arching, trembling body.

She sobbed and stared with wide wet eyes at the ceiling, her mouth agape in pain and shock and all she could do with her hands now was grip tightly at his arms, bracing against the onslaught with whimpers punched out of her with every hard thrust.

Rumlow smiled despite himself, and said, “Make sure you come in her, soldier.”

The asset didn’t look away, didn’t pause as he said, “Understood.”

She whimpered out another weak, “please stop,” that was nearly inaudible over the sound of his hips slamming into her thighs while he raped her tight cunt, and from the vantage point Rumlow had given himself he could see a smear of blood trickling between her legs. Not that he was gay-or whatever he was, Rumlow was comfortable, okay?—but Rumlow had sure as hell noticed that the soldier had a nice cock for fucking. Such a waste, especially since the Soldier barely looked ruffled by what was happening. He just kept pistoning in and out of her like a machine, like he wasn’t getting off at all. Rumlow felt a small part of his heart break at the sight, the poor fuck. Maybe he really had no clue what fucking was supposed to be.

And then something amazing happened. It took another few minutes of watching him fucking like he was a sex cyborg or something, but finally, Jesus Christ finally, Rumlow heard a magical sound. The asset groaned. An actual low, choked sound came straight from his core and made his hips stutter for a second in their relentless drive. The soldier dropped down so that his body was actually pressed against her chest, his flesh and blood hand actually gripping tightly at her thigh like he was holding on. Another groan came from his throat and he slowed his thrusts, pressing in deeper and digging his forehead into the metal arm braced on her neck. His back arched He was enjoying himself. Rumlow should be given a damn medal for giving the soldier this treat.

Those deep, penetrating thrusts starting picking up pace again, and his arm moved away from her chest so that he could brace his weight on the ground. His movements lost their grace but picked up speed, driving in without the careful thrusts but instead fucking her as hard he could, and the new rolling thrusts of his hips made another cry tear from her throat. And winter choked another sound back, a loud, stuttering moan despite his attempts to keep quiet and Rumlow felt his own cock pulse when his hips stilled inside of her, jerking forward a few times as he spilled his load into her abused hole.

Rumlow barely had time to catch his own damn breath before the flip switched on the asset again, and he righted himself, pounding into her with the same mechanical speed and grace as before. That tore another pretty cry from her throat, a whimpered, “please n-no” from the knowledge he wasn’t done.

Now, when arm returned her instead gripped his hand over her throat, and he squeezed, cutting off all whimpers and cries in favor of a soft, choking gurgle. Rumlow inhaled sharply, clenching his fists again. Her eyes bugged out of her head, mouth gaping wide for breath she could not achieve. Now her hands clawing uselessly at his hand instead of pushing at him to get off. At least she had her priorities straight. The soldier didn’t pause, merely gripped tighter while he fucked his still hard cock in and out of her torn cunt. The fucking attack dog apparently didn’t know the difference between fight and fuck, but this was the end game anyway. Rumlow was going to have some restless dreams tonight.

She kept choking, even as he eyes rolled and her body started to jerk from the lack of oxygen. The asset’s stone cold eyes merely watched her as he snapped his hips into her, and Rumlow wondered for a moment why he kept going even though—oh yeah. Rumlow remembered his order, and that the Winter Soldier sort of took everything literally.

Oh well.

“If you’re done enjoying yourself, you can stop fucking her.,” Rumlow said, and the Winter Soldier immediately stilled his hips, remove his hand. He stood up and looked forward again, like he hadn’t just been fucking the girl beneath him like an animal.

A sharp gasp and choking cough erupted from the girls throat, curling up on the floor as she struggled to suck in air into her trembling body. The asset didn’t move, even with his cock dick arching up towards his Kevlar vest. Shit.

Rumlow shook his head, and said, “Get your dick back on your pants. Jeez.”

The soldier looked at him for a moment, eyes still like ice, and mechanically pulled his pants up from his thighs. His erection was already fading by the time he zipped them back up.

“You may leave.”

The asset nodded, and turned to leave the room. Rumlow pulled out his comm device, ignoring the girl whimpering and trembling on the floor at his feet.

He nudged her with his boot, “Shut the fuck up, the static down here’s a bitch.”

He fitted the comm into his ear and said, “Apologies, sir. The asset needed further assistance after the mission.”

“Understood,” the static crackled back. “Remove the liability.”

Rumlow smirked, “You got it.”

He pulled out the gun still strapped to the holster at his side, and fired at the back of the girl’s head.

Rumlow scratched his head and left the room, wondered what he was going to have for dinner.

**Author's Note:**

> I live on comments and kudos ;u;


End file.
